


Tú eres mi corazón

by Aquielle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Flagrant misuse of poetic imagery, Haitian Vacation, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Murder Husbands, Season 3 Spoilers, Shipping on a Ship, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, The Great Escape, UST up the wazOO
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/pseuds/Aquielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was quite possibly the least planned out escape he has ever been a part of. </p><p>It either spoke to Will's dramatic sense of impending catastrophe or his unwavering faith in his companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tú eres mi corazón

**Author's Note:**

> This is possibly the beginning of a Murder Husbands escape to South America series depending on the response.

Hannibal feels the body that slammed into his when they hit the water go slack. A momentary trill of panic sparks up inside him until he feels fingers clutch his shirt.

This was quite possibly the least planned out escape he has ever been a part of. It either spoke to Will's dramatic sense of impending catastrophe or his unwavering faith in his companion, he prefers to believe it's the latter. He is painfully aware that it isn't outside the realm of possibility that Will may have been trying to kill them both, he intends to explore this further once the situation is less dire.

As he breaks the surface he clutches Will to him, blood soaked back to Hannibal's heaving chest. He tips Will's head against his neck "Put your head back, close your eyes" he whispers like a benediction.

"I'm not wading" Will croaks out "and this is not the stream". His breathing is shallow and his voice laced with the tightness of the cold and pain that is keeping him on edge.

"I promise, no further harm will come to you" Hannibal huffs while using all his strength to pull both of their weight towards the shore with the one arm not wrapped around his companion.

His legs feel heavy, the wound on his side searing with salt of the Atlantic and the exertion. Will sags against him like a rag doll and he has to adjust his grip again. He swims for what feels like ages, frigid water sending bolts of pain keeping him awake, until he closes in on a rocky shore. His legs are weak and shaky beneath him as he heaves Will onto the shore.

Poseidon will have no offerings this day.

The chore of getting both of them on land is exhausting. He falls face first into the sand and laughs for what feels like the first time in years. His precious cargo is unconscious but still with him, covered is blood and sand but free.

He pushes himself onto his knees and lets his gaze linger, he wonders if dear William can possibly appreciate how rarified the air he breathes is. How much patience has gone into insuring the continuation of the beating of his heart.

Hannibal is honest enough with himself that he can admit that his interest in Will had been more than just professional curiosity since the day they met.

Witnessing Will's becoming had been a once in a lifetime chance, a thing of exquisite beauty, worthy of the years he sacrificed.

One day Hannibal will reminisce about the look in Dolarhyde's eyes when the realization that he was not fighting two individuals, but two halves of a greater whole dawned. But now he has things to do, arraignments to make, three years to compensate for and miles to go before he sleeps.

A grievous wound and unconscious companion go a long way in procuring help to the nearest marina at which point enough money buys transport, even if they are still soaking wet and stained with blood. A cargo ship would never be his first choice, but the crew is minimal and polite and the faster they leave the less likely Jack Crawford is to pursue.

Hannibal's stitches aren't as good as they use to be, but the bleeding has stopped and the worst of the damage dealt with. Will is pliant in his sleep and his scars tell the story of their violent history. Hannibal runs a loving hand over each one as he bandages them. He changes them both into loose fitting clothes and tucks Will in close before the rolling waves finally pull him into a restless sleep.

Will wakes him with soft, wounded noises in his sleep. He is curling into a ball to protect himself from the dark things that lash out from his dreams. Hannibal soothes him with gentle strokes and soft words. He presses his nose into the crook of Will's neck and inhales the intoxicating scent and feels the tense muscles relax.

They will thrive in South America, of that he is sure.


	2. Entre la somber a y el alma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up in pain and unsure.

Will remains unconscious for the first two days of the trip which ends up being a blessing. It's hurricane season and the ship rocks relentlessly. Hannibal reads the only cookbook he finds onboard with a sort of grotesque fascination and walks the length of the room more times than he cares to count. 

He worries about their access to pain killers. It is limited to the small amount of OxyContin he was able to buy on the docks and an astronomically inflated price. Had Will's safety not hung in the balance he would have gutted the dealer on principle, but nothing can be done about it now. 

The morning of the third day the captain informs him of an oncoming storm that will force them to dock in Haiti for at least two days. Hannibal spends the next 45 minutes in the bridge speaking rapid-fire French  on a satellite phone to arrange somewhere for them to spend the remainder of their convalescence.

When he comes back into the room Will is propped up in the bed. It is clear he has not been awake for long, but his expression is pained. "How long?"

"Two days."

"Where are we going?" He chokes out, coughing dry as he meets Hannibal's eyes, wincing as he tries not to move.

Hannibal puts out a hand to still him and is waved off. He goes for the en suite for a cup of water. "Port au Prince" He says as he hands the cup to Will, careful not to initiate contact. It's childish, but he wants Will to want him, not just need him.

Will takes the offering and breathes deep "I didn't expect to survive the fall".

"I thought I told you that suicide is the enemy." He goes to take the cup back and Will lightly grabs his wrist, thumb making soft circles over the pulse point. The look in his eyes sends shocks to Hannibal's chest in time with his thumb.

"Do you ever tire of spinning gold?" Will asks with tender eyes.

"Quid pro quo Will, you've already paid me your firstborn, it's the least I could do."

He clutches his side with one hand, still holding Hannibal "Everything hurts, can you make everything not hurt?" He asks with an arched eyebrow.

"You need to eat first."

*****

The next two days Will spends in an OxyContin haze eating rough grain bread with strongly herbed cheese and Hannibal's next to miraculous chicken soup. It is made all the more amazing by what he assures Will is an utter lack of usable ingredients.

They talk about the ship, the crew and where they plan to go, anything but the subject that Will seems to be avoiding.

The silence between them is almost deafening at times. Will is somehow removed from him while awake, like a wolf who knows that another predator can smell his weakness.

They share a bed but Hannibal, like the gentleman he is, respects boundaries. The each have a side and Will settles down with his back to Hannibal, curled to protect his injury. It's only after Will has fallen asleep that he reaches for Hannibal with grasping hands and soft wounded sounds.

He strokes Will's hair and whispers to him in Lithuanian, calming him while inhaling the spicy scent of arousal mixed with soft sleepy warmth that lingers and lulls him to rest.

Soon enough the damn will break.

*****

The last day of their voyage they walk up to the deck, Will's strength has come in a burst and he refuses to remain in bed for one more minute.

While they watch the horizon fill with the mass of land that is Haiti's capital city Will sighs softly. "I guess Bedelia was right after all."

"About what?" Hannibal asks with genuine curiosity.

"She pointed out the intimate nature of our relationship in one of our sessions, then insinuated that I couldn't live without you."

"She was your therapist?"

"Not for very long" Will makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, "she was far too judgmental and I think just a bit jealous."

Hannibal feels a slight sense of regret over not ever witnessing the two of them together "Doctor Du Maurier is a fascinating woman, but a bit of an acquired taste."

"One I have yet to acquire." He says, a clear undertone of mockery coloring his response.

"Perhaps one day." Hannibal sincerely hopes they both live to see that day.

The smile that breaks onto Will's face can only be described as predatory.

*****

They file off the ship and into a cab with a brief stop in a market for basic provisions before heading into the heart of the city. The humidity hangs with the promise of the oncoming storm. It is hot and crowded but seemingly no one pays any attention to them at all.

The property is blocks from the embassies and the architecture is colonial French in a way that reeks of money.

Everything is mahogany and whites so bright they hurt the eyes. It's spacious, with three bedrooms and a garden that surrounds the patio, creating a sauna effect during the hottest part of the day.

Off the Rue du Marron Inconnu where the haves live so close to the have nots is almost absurd is where they will stabilize, solidify their bond and prove their malleability or devolve into a series of cascading failures that will leave one of them broken beyond repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, sloppy kisses to all the Fannibals who have left kudos for this work. 
> 
> I know it will probably be a week between updates due to my work schedule but thank you for the support.


	3. Ojo de la tormenta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm breaks and truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that none of this mishegoss has been beta'd so all mistakes are my autocorrect's fault. 
> 
> Special thanks to Rach & Holli for cheering me on and my 1 o'clock client for canceling at the last minute.

For two days the wind howls and the power flickers. It rains sideways and Will sleeps in the second bedroom. Hannibal wakes to find him sleeping in the day bed on the balcony covered with a towel.

He doesn't even attempt to hide his displeasure at the situation.

*****

The following week in Haiti is a chess match. Both of them recovering and adjusting. They are used to being solitary creatures so the library becomes sacred space and Hannibal, being the gracious host, allows Will his solace. After being weened off the pain meds, they are much more mobile and wander around the city together.

They settle into leisurely days and cool ocean breezes with little to do other than absorb their surroundings and circumstances of their company.

*****

They take short walks along the square passing the sleek new government buildings on the way to the Marche en Fer. Will's Cajun French going further than he thought at the local market is a high water mark that leaves him in a excellent humor while they purchase red beans, shallots and conch for dinner.

Hannibal insists on cooking Sauce Pois Rouge over rice for the first real meal, something local yet familiar to Will's palate, reminiscent of his childhood in Louisiana. They have been existing on Doumbrey dumplings in conch broth just to sooth Will's stomach after the repeated bouts of antibiotics and pain killers.

No meat other than seafood has touched his kitchen.

*****

At one point Hannibal's stitches need to be replaced by a local doctor and the more relaxed tone is shattered as Will spends the entire appointment pacing with his eyes glued to Hannibal's flank until the process is complete.

Will's scent alters slightly after the reminder of the physical cost paid for the consummation of their relationship. He smells slightly acidic from too much tension and humidity, but there is an underlying arousal that is intoxicating.

From then on Will touches him casually on a near constant basis. A bump of leg, a brush of fingers across his shoulder, hand on the small of his back. It's as if Will is trying to figuring out the shape and feel of him with his hands, the implication is heady. 

As much as he may desire a freely given intimacy with Will he is also aware of the facts of their history. Will's empathy has prevented anything from being too easy and he has never shared this particular proclivity with Hannibal, maybe he never possessed it long enough to share.

As much as he believes that sexuality is fluid, not everyone shares that opinion and he refuses to change minds by force or coercion.

*****

Hannibal is reclining in the tropical evening air, reading on the balcony when the silence is broken with a statement. "I didn't intend for us to survive the fall."

"I know, your plan to annihilate all of the evil in one fell swoop was admirable." Hannibal states as he lays his book down on the floor. He has been awaiting Will's confession like an eager priest.

"You didn't count on my desire to protect you, even from yourself." He watches the shoulders hunched in as Will looks out to the city, avoiding seeing too much.

"I wanted to run away with you" Will exhales, sagging under the weight of his own words. "I gave up everything, destroyed the life I built just to orbit around you" he runs his hands through his hair as he turns to face Hannibal. "Do you have any idea what I went through? Three years of feeling like a part of me was missing, but you were an hour away, sitting in a cell, just waiting to see me crawl back."

"You didn't crawl back Will, your entrance was quite grand and as always, your choice." He watches  as Will's eyes land everywhere but his face. "You asked me to go so I left, you asked for my help and I helped you. I only have your best interests in mind."

It's mostly true, he wanted to ensure that the seed germinating in his fertile mind took root. He knows that Will is more himself than he has ever been, that must terrify him.

"Hannibal, I don't feel like I know how to breathe. How can you be relaxed? I feel like I'm trapped in a maelstrom and the only thing I have to hold onto is you."

Agitation is written all over him, the newfound freedom from their mutually insured self-destruction sitting restlessly without occupation.

Will finally meets his eyes and says "The last time I felt like that I wound up in a jail cell slowly losing my mind."

"Do you doubt my motives? My plans? My abilities?"

Will shakes his head fervently "No, none of that."

"My compassion towards you Will, is that where your doubt lies?"

"It's not your compassion that I want."

"What is it that you want?"

Will breathes deep and steels himself "I want to conquer Troy with you."

He can see it in his mind, Will crouched in the dark, covered in blood, seething like an angry beast, like a true apex predator. It is glorious in his mind.

"To fall in love with someone's thoughts is the most intimate, splendid romance." Hannibal recites, studying the dilation of Will's pupils. 

Will steps toward him licking his lips in an almost compulsive manner, as if he is unable to stop Hannibal's thoughts from slamming through his mind. Hannibal inhales sharply, his chest feels tight as he stands up and the suddenness of Will's advance leaves him momentarily shocked.

"Hannibal, the difference between being with you and not being with you is the like difference between living and dying." Will touches his cheek a look of longing in his eyes. "I have to know, you have to tell me, how many more scars can we inflict on each other?"

"I have no desire to harm you" he keeps his promises. 

Will traces the wound on his side with a soft hand and presses his head into Hannibal's shoulder. "Promise you won't lie to me."

"You had but to ask" he whispers into Will's chestnut curls. "I could no more hurt you than cut out my own heart."

He feels the tightening of arms around him and completes the embrace. "I could never leave you Will. It will be this, us, always, for as long as you will have me."

As Hannibal soothes Will's worries with light caresses down his back he hears "We will be monsters together, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another."

Their fates are inextricably entwined now. Fulfillment of a promise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from Sanober Khan and Mary Shelley


	4. Lo que el corazón quiere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How is it that he is always in my thoughts,  
> Even when I am not thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will started talking to me during an infuriatingly busy week, so here is an amuse bouche to tide you over.

The night that Will walks into the master bedroom in his tee shirt and boxers and asks "Can I?" Hannibal does not say a word, he simply raises an eyebrow.

"I slept better when you were close" he replies with a nervous laugh. The way he bites his lip, as if to keep more words from spilling out sends Hannibal's blood singing through his veins.

Will almost tells him to forget it, but Hannibal pulls back the sheets and slides over to one side in clear invitation and he doesn't hesitate anymore.

The sheets are butter soft and the warmth that radiates off of Hannibal feels like sin. Despite Will's nerves he sleeps soundly, no more wandering to the patio in the middle of the night. It's almost as if his unconscious mind has been searching out the place where he could rest. Where he belongs.

He has never really understood Hannibal's fixation with him, outside of his rather unique mind. Will seems like an amalgam of things that would repel his sophisticated psychologist. Nervous, sweaty, covered in dog hair and emanating his working class background all over his 1800 thread count sheets.

Getting use to the extravagant way that Hannibal lives is still a shock to the system. Will had grown up in the type of poverty that most people just don't associate with on any level other than pity. He remembers eating carrots for a week solid because his father had to choose between rent or food and even the south January is an unforgiving month.

He remembers the panic that would grip him every time his father would start throwing duffle bags onto the bed cussing, knowing that another school awaited him.

His upbringing has clung to him all his life, things that were not immediate had a way of being forgotten, he hadn't ever even gone to the dentist until he was 22 years old. A chipped tooth had cost $250.00 and the resentment that had built up over years towards his father faded a little more at every bite of ramen he ate for three weeks to offset the cost.

Even once steady employment ensured he could afford nicer things it had seemed hedonistic to indulge in anything outside of basic needs.

This modern day palace on the edge of the wrong part of the city is an island of opulence in a sea of poverty. Sometimes it feels like a gilded cage so he chooses to wander through the streets of Port-a-Prince. It reminds him of the trailer parks of Greenburg, Louisiana. He is finally feeling like himself again, in control with the exception of a few traitorous physical impulses.

Sometimes he misses his dogs or Molly's soft reassurances, but he knows that here is where he belongs. Here in the satin warmth of Hannibal's bed he can't do anything but relax into the arms that encircle him and luxuriate.

The irony that this is where he feels safe is not lost on him. The amount of damage inflicted by the hands that touch him in the night borders on Herculean, but there is only reassurance and gentle caresses now. It reminds him of coaxing a spooked animal and though he resents the comparison, he does not pull away. He has always preferred the carrot to the stick.

He has never been an especially tactile person, never desired to be held, to touch, but as with all things it seems Hannibal is the exception to the rule.

He used to love to hold Molly close and feel the softness and warmth that she emitted, but in sleep he pushed away. He would end up as far away as possible to avoid overheating and the claustrophobic feeling of another person in his space. He would often end up on the couch, after three months she stopped being offended in the morning.

The mornings with Hannibal have been confusing. He keeps ending up as close as he can get with the smell of Hannibal surrounding him and an erection so hard it aches. He wakes slowly and has twice ended up rubbing against him in search of friction before awareness came crashing into him.

Will knows that he is a bit of a sapiosexual, but he dreams of Hannibal. He dreams of the stalking movements that signaled the end of the Red Dragon. He replays the moment that Hannibal had ripped out Francis Dolarhyde's throat like a feral apex predator and it excites him. He doesn't know if the violence thrilled him or if he is just so caught up in Hannibal he can't stop mirroring.

One thing he knows without doubt is that the physical proximity they arrive at every morning sends his stomach muscles twitching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to anyone who has been waiting for this chapter. If I was a better person I would have written this whole thing and then posted. But I am impulsive and if I don't post when the whim strikes me nothing I write would ever make it on here.


	5. En secreto, entre la sombra y el alma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Rach & Holli who feed my ravenous hunger with tender bits of Hannigram squee.

Their final day in Haiti is spent in the El-Saieh gallery. It is a farewell to the cocoon that has drawn them closer together, the unintended stop that allowed them room to heal and emerge stronger.

Will enjoys the hushed walls and gentle whirring of fans. He becomes entranced by Pauleus Vital's "Marche de Ville" the bright colors and fervent energy solidifying his experience on the island into a surreal but lovely image. He observes it with shifting eyes, picking up subtle color changes and brush strokes until he notices that Hannibal in the other corner of the room has stopped moving, more importantly he no longer feels eyes on him.

Will notes the absence and wonders how long he has been without focus and how the other man stares with longing at the image before him. He walks to Hannibal's side to observe the work, two small figures pressed close against a darkened sky, offering a sacrifice to an unknown deity, knife between them. The peaceful look on the doctor's face makes something inside Will's gut twist.

Jealousy is a wasted emotion, hardly ever useful in the long run his brain screams, but that doesn't temper his desire to rip "Libation" off the wall. He irrationally wants to tear it to pieces, throw it to the ground and make a scene, anything to have those dark eyes returned with a laser focus to him. To no longer feel bereft of the attention he has clearly become too accustomed to having focused solely on him.

He used to avoid eyes, hiding from what he would find, or not find inside their depths. Hannibal has torn that rule asunder, as he tends to do with all Will's self-imposed barriers.

He feels the nervous energy swell inside his chest as Hannibal finally turns to meet his gaze. The look he finds catches his breath in his throat and he can't control his impulses any longer. The knowledge of his restraint slips from recollection like smoke as he pulls Hannibal to him with a hand to his jaw and another to his hip. The fact that they are very much in public sends a shiver up his spine.

The pressure against his lips is firm but gentle, a soft sweetness that he didn't expect. He feels his whole body start to relax, melting into Hannibal who's hands mirror his own with clutching rhythm that echoes the rush of blood to his head. He hears a door slam and he tenses with a start of panic that bursts through him when he realizes his mouth has opened to the gentle urging of Hannibal's tongue. He sucks at the vague taste of the figs from the doctor's lunch that lingers and whimpers low.

Another noise startles him and pulls back with a petulant look towards the offending door. He feels like he should be embarrassed by the hot coil of lust that shoots through him as he looks back, but the hooded dark eyes quiet his doubts.

"Pavydi berniukas" Hannibal whispers as he catches Will in another quick kiss before stepping back breaking the chrysalis of desire. The throbbing ache Will feels doesn't subside for hours but Hannibal's attention does not wander again.

*****

That night Will doesn't turn away like usual when he gets into Hannibal's bed. He lays on his back and tries to concentrate on his breathing, slow, even, and steady. He feels the heat from Hannibal's skin seeping into his shirt where their shoulders almost touch and it keeps him awake for far too long.

The next morning Will doesn't stop his hands from roaming over the skin that is pressed against him, bared in the night for the sake of comfort, an offering to the Hatian heat. They usually remain clothed, but something has tipped the scales in Will's mind and he can feel himself sliding down that damned slippery slope of impropriety.

He doesn't tease, just explores the flat planes of muscle that Hannibal willingly offers. He has no real intention for this to lead to anything, he knows that Hannibal is using a tremendous amount of self control to maintain their stasis, but it's nice just to feel warm skin under his touch. To watch muscles bunch and hear the sighs, to know he has provoked a response.

It feels powerful and dangerous.

*****

Leaving Port au Prince is harder than Will thought it would be, but the disconnected feeling eases once they get onto the open water.

Hannibal has spent a small fortune on a 40 foot yacht with every possible amenity they could need for the next three weeks. They spend their days on the deck in the radiant sun.

Hannibal tans quickly and the contrast of the silver in his chest hair is a source of distraction that leads to an inappropriate level of staring, not that the doctor cares, he is far too busy memorizing the white pucker of scars across Will that tell the story of their tumultuous relationship.

Will fishes almost every day off the back of the boat, catching more than they could possibly eat. When Hannibal questions him his reply is a simple "I wouldn't want you getting hungry."

Will is unsure of what reaction he hopes to provoke in the older man, but after the fifth time Hannibal points out the excess of fish he asks "Do you really think I used my quite considerably skills to save your life only to take it from you Will?"

Will consciders his response as he guts what will become a fish curry, "You had every intention of eating my brains right out of my skull" he states matter of factly "I don't imagine you could rationalize that kind of behavior again, but why tempt fate?" Pushing is far more fun when the outcome is unknown.

Hannibal has the decency to look chagrined, "Admittedly not my finest moment" he clucks his tongue softly "I fear I was lacking in self control."

Will turns to give Hannibal the full force of his attention, "When contrition lacks sincerity it loses meaning, Doctor Lecter."

"I'm certain I would have regretted it immediately afterwards" he says with complete honesty. "You had yet to ripen Will, and I intend to savor every bit of you."

Will feels himself still, the slow burn of desire spreads in his gut again. The words rolling off Hannibal's lips only make him seem that much more enticing, like a carnivorous plant. He smiles, his eyes darken, a predatory grin spreads across his lips. He feels a wave of affection wash over him and a sudden urge to bite at Hannibal's neck. "In secret?" He asks "Between the shadow and the soul?"

Hannibal replies with a voice so low it makes Will ache "As certain dark things are to be loved".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to apologize again for how long I take to put out new chapters. Sadly my muse is fickle and my schedule unyielding. 
> 
> All quotes are Neruda


	6. Exultante Jubilante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a shower

Hannibal spends most of the time on the boat shirtless, warm sun and cool breezes tanning his skin golden and distracting Will.

  
The images burn in his mind, alive and writhing in ecstasy. They wake him in the predawn light of the cabin, the bed that they share.

Will slips out of bed and pads across to the en suite, nothing in his mind that cannot be cleared up with liberal application of hot water he tells himself.

The shower, like everything else here is just bordering on sinful in its decadence. A giant shower head that reminds him of a waterfall, it drowns out his thoughts and warms him.

He thinks of the first time he saw Hannibal after so long apart, after working so hard to erase every trace of him from inside his mind. Brutal beauty tamed behind mere inches of plexiglass. All his preparation had not helped him regulate his heartbeat or the anticipation that flowed through his veins.

He would lay awake some nights with Molly's breath on his shoulder and stitch together the pieces of Hannibal in his memory. Monster, musician, friend, Doctor, confessor, wounded animal, he has always been so much more than the some of his exquisitely crafted parts.

Will takes himself in hand in the shower while picturing Hannibal's golden back muscles, his precise surgical movements, soapy hands sliding down his flank to tease and grip and speed the beating of his heart. It feels like a cascading failure that was as inevitable as the setting of the sun. It feels like the feeding of an endlessly hungry beast that stirred to life beneath the moonlight covered in dragon blood.

The feeling and memories overwhelm him as the steam billows from the shower cold air pebbling his skin. Acute longing, a need for contact more terrifying than religion, more all encompassing than the sea washes over him.

When he hears the door snap closed Will's passion ignites like an inferno and suddenly everything he had ever known is burning to the ground with the touch of a hand to his back.

He pushes his weight back to Hannibal feeling the warmth leeched by cool dry skin.

"Look at you, you glorious boy" Hannibal whispers as he wraps his arms around the younger man's waist fingertips tracing the pale scar there "I see inside you clever Will, all your ravenous desires, behind hooded eyes".

Will makes a small noise and bites his lip, head falling back to rest on broad shoulders. The lilting, accented words driving his hand faster and arching his back until he feels Hannibal press against him, hot and hard, he moans wantonly when gripped tighter.

"Too long kept you on a leash, a predatory cat in an emerald collar. All that power harnessed under the guise of civility" Hannibal's hand pulls at the taunt skin of Will's stomach as the other slides up to his throat to feel the ragged breaths and the click of Adam's apple.

Will feels the fingers tighten around his throat and a hot tongue along his earlobe. He chokes down the feeling of fondness that flows through him, he trembles and clenches, relief rushing out of him in a cry.

Hannibal is enraptured, clinging to this glorious creature. Mumbling prayers for which no words exist.

His ribs feel too tight for his lungs, it's like suddenly discovering something there is not even a name for. Will is exquisite. His pleasure so intense it borders on pain, ragged breaths, muscles pulled taut, absolutely overcome and he can feel a craving begin to coil inside him, to live inside Will, to hunt and bleed and fuck and pet.

A yearning to devour and be consumed in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologize so many times for being an awful human being who does not update regularly. 
> 
> I'm sorry. 
> 
> But I'm going to London so that deserves a celebration!


End file.
